


This is Crazy

by ArchOfImagine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crazy Castiel, Crazy Dean, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a week since Dean Winchester was labeled 'schizophrenic' and admitted into the Sioux Falls Psychiatric Hospital. Forced to socialize, his attention is drawn to a man named Castiel who believes he's an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr there is a gifset that floats around with Dean and Cas meeting in a hospital as an AU. This idea stemmed from that, only with the added bonus that at one point they have both been at a 'looney bin' (As Dean puts it).
> 
> HUGE thanks to my beta CroissantofDestiny. She has become less of a beta and more of a cheerleader. Her appreciation for the stories inspires me to continue.

The first seven days drifted by quickly. Probably as a result of the fact that Dean laid in his room, ignored every nurse, and kept an inner monologue of why he _didn't_ deserve to be checked in at a psychiatric hospital. He had to tell himself, of course, because if he told any of the staff members they just looked at him and said 'Yeah sure, you and everyone else here.'  
  
But he wasn't crazy. He just saw monsters. And on particularly bad nights, he woke up to the sight of his mother pinned to the ceiling with flames engulfing her body.  
  
The doctors called it an acute case of schizophrenia; his little brother, Sammy, called it being traumatized after seeing their mother kill herself. Either way, for most of his life he had controlled the issue - ignoring the symptoms and putting on a brave face while he worked as a mechanic for his uncle. He did just fine, until his father was murdered. And then, a few months later, his uncle as well.  
  
Dean let his hurt (and a lot of liquor) fuel his anger, at that point. Instead of working, he would spend his days at the bar up the street from his uncle's garage. When someone told him he'd had enough, he took it as an invitation to fight.  
  
Unfortunately, the drunker he got, the more demons he saw.  
  
His luck ran out when he punched a sheriff and wound up in jail. Thank God Sammy was pre-law.  
  
Although, a week into his stay at Sioux Falls Psychiatric Hospital Dean wished his brother had let him go to prison. He would much rather wear an orange jumpsuit, than the white outfit the psych ward made him wear.  
  
"Knock, knock."  
  
Turning his head, Dean frowned at the sight of his therapist. The woman was a pain in his ass.  
  
Stretched out on the bed, he looked back at the ceiling and hoped he could ignore her and she would go away.  
  
"Mr. Winchester, it has been a week since you've arrived at our facility. If you don't make an effort to join in some of the group activities, I will need to send a full report regarding your lack of cooperation to your lawyer. He informed when you were checked in, that such a report would be very unsatisfactory." As she spoke, she moved to the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"I'm not going out to play with the crazies, Michelle."  
  
"Well then, it's against protocol, but I think I might make an exception..." He could hear her walking back towards the door. "I'm going to invite everyone down here for a group activity in your room. What would you prefer? Classical opera singing, or interpretive dance?"  
  
Dean growled as he sat up. "Don't let the looney tunes in my room!"  
  
"One hour, Dean. Go into the activity room for one hour, socialize with at least one person... and then you may come back and hide in your room for another week."  
  
He finally stood, trying not to get annoyed at the tight fit of his white pants as he walked to the door. Dr. Reynolds laughed (probably at the sight of his ass in the constricting pants) and reached for a blue robe that hung on the back of his bathroom door before holding it out to him. "Here."  
  
Robe on and tied securely, he left his room for the first time in a week. The hallways were brightly lit and smelled of disinfectant. He tucked his hands in the robe's pockets and turned to the left, moving towards the activity room that held a television. The other one, down the right corridor, was used specifically for arts and crafts - and the singing slash dancing that Dr. Reynolds had threatened him with.  
  
If he was forced into an hour of socializing, he was at least going to be where he could stare at a television and ignore people.  
  
The large room held ten other people - seven of whom were gathered on the south end of the room around a table playing cards. The other three were scattered - two watching the tv on the sofa, and one sitting at a table by a large window.  
  
Standing in the doorway, Dean observed everything. The card game was go-fish and someone named 'Billy' was winning. The television was tuned to Tom and Jerry; the only available seat to watch was smack dab in the middle of the two people already there.  
  
His eyes landed on the last occupant of the room. The man, probably a few years older than him, was wearing a tan trenchcoat over his white scrubs. He was meticulously placing each piece on a chess board.  
  
Running through his options, and quickly ruling out every other one (including the arts and crafts room), Dean began walking towards the man. He didn't know what to expect. It was, after all, a looney bin.  
  
"Would you like to play?"  
  
Dean was still a few feet away when the man spoke, his voice deeper than expected and his eyes never leaving the chess board. Dean actually looked around him, wondering if there was someone else standing there. Did the guy mean him? Considering every one else in the room was otherwise occupied - probably.  
  
Unless... his eyes landed on the empty chair and Dean realized that the other man could be speaking to someone in his imagination.  
  
The man looked towards him, and Dean's eyes met the deep blue gaze. "I'm talking to you, new guy. I'm not seeing people."  
  
"Oh." Dean stepped closer, feeling guilty for assuming the worst. "I just didn't want to interrupt if you were on a date with Scarlett Johanson or something."  
  
With a smirk, the guy's eyes focused back on the board. "She left fifteen minutes ago. You just missed her."  
  
Dean looked around the room once more, before sitting down in the empty chair. "I'm uh... Dean."  
  
"I know. My room is directly across from yours - and your name is on the door." The blue eyes looked back up to him, and Dean wondered if the intense gaze could see through to his soul. "My name is Castiel. It's nice to meet you, Dean." Castiel motioned to the board. "Why don't you go first?"  
  
While they played chess, Dean avoided the question that he wanted to ask the most. He couldn't figure out a polite way to ask 'why are you in the psych ward?'  
  
"Check." Castiel spoke, setting his piece down on the board and looking up to Dean with a happy twinkle in his eye.  
  
Considering the fact that he had never been good at chess, Dean wasn't surprised. But, surprise or not, he didn't like to lose. The normal aggravation at being defeated, though, wasn't there. Something about the smile on his opponent's face, made it okay that he lost. "Good game, Cas."  
  
Castiel raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but didn't discourage its use. He looked back to the board and began meticulously resetting the pieces. "I know you want to ask, so I will save you the trouble; I admitted myself into the ward."  
  
He couldn't imagine anyone voluntarily going to the crazy house. "Why?"  
  
"You know, Dean," Castiel leaned closer, lowering his voice to a deep whisper that only Dean would hear. "Most people consider it inappropriate to ask such a personal question."  
  
Dean didn't know how to approach such a snarky reply. He felt equal parts embarrassed and annoyed at feeling 'stupid' for asking. He couldn't even explain why he was so curious about Castiel - but he was. "I just---" Dean looked around the room at the other patients; most of them barely registered as cognitive. "You seem different."  
  
"I am different." Cas smiled. "I'm an angel of the Lord."  
  
Well then... there was the crazy. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair and twisted the black queen to face the wrong direction on the chessboard. He had no idea what he should say. When his eyes slowly moved up to look at Castiel again, he frowned. He was being teased. He hated being teased. "Right. And I'm the king of Hell."  
  
"Actually 'the King of Hell' is a short man with a British accent named Crowley."  
  
Pushing his chair back, Dean went to stand up. Obviously his opinion that the guy seemed 'normal' was wrong. "I think I'll go back to my room now."  
  
"Dean---"  
  
He left the activity room without stopping. He had not survived the hour that Dr. Reynolds requested, but he didn't care. He wouldn't sit around while some nut-case made fun of him.  
  
-  
  
 _It's his mother's scream that wakes him. He knows that he isn't allowed to get up after bedtime, but he's scared that something is wrong. Four years old, he stumbles down the hallway towards his baby brother's room. When he pushes the door open, he sees the fire._  
  
 _His mother is pinned to the ceiling, blood dripping from a wound in her stomach as her body burns. His father picks himself up off the floor and grabs Sammy in a rush._  
  
 _"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back. Now, Dean, go!" His father says._  
  
 _As he carries Sammy in a rush down the stairs, all he can think about is how he's not supposed to hold the baby unless he's sitting on the sofa. Unless mom is beside him supporting Sammy's head._  
  
 _He can hear the flames crackling the wood of the home. But he doesn't turn back. He never turns back._  
  
-  
  
"Dean."  
  
He practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice. Sitting up in his bed, he looked around the room until he focused on the man standing to the right of his bed. The unmistakeable blue eyes told him exactly who it was.  
  
"Cas, why are you in my room?"  
  
Castiel stepped closer and flicked on the bedside lamp. "You were screaming in your sleep. This is the first time I've heard you scream. I was worried. It sounded like you were in pain."  
  
Laying back, Dean took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Just a nightmare," he whispered. He could still see his mother pinned against the ceiling.  
  
"Well I'm not Dr. Reynolds, but I will listen if you want to talk." Cas turned slightly, letting his body lean against the bedside table. He continued to stare at Dean, though. His eyes showed his concern.  
  
Dean couldn't figure out why someone that he just met was so concerned about him. "They make me go through enough therapy here, Cas." He sat up, kicked his legs over the side of the bed, and stared at the 'angel'. "Why the trenchcoat?" He finally noticed the Castiel was once more wearing the tan coat over his white scrubs. "Didn't they provide you with a blue robe?"  
  
"Would you like to hear a story, Dean?"  
  
He frowned. "Is it relevant to my question?"  
  
"A few years ago, a righteous man was sent to hell. His brother was dying, and the only way to save him was to sell his soul. This righteous man was very important, however, and God knew that the man couldn't be left in hell. God sent an angel to save the man by gripping him tight and pulling him from hell---"  
  
Dean looked away. "I should have never asked about the trenchcoat," he mumbled.  
  
"To answer your question, Dean, an angel must occupy a human vessel while on earth. Our true form cannot be seen with the naked eye. My vessel, Jimmy Novak, was fond of this trenchcoat. I continue to wear it as a reminder of his sacrifice." Gripping the right side of the coat, Castiel held the coat open to show Dean the tag inside that read 'James Novak'.  
  
He had to give the guy credit for creating authenticity for his story. "Angels don't exist. And if they did exist, I highly doubt they would take up residence in a looney bin."  
  
"Unless they were ensuring someone's safety," Castiel countered, watching Dean closely.  
  
He rolled his eyes and said once more, "Angels don't exist, Cas. They aren't real."  
  
Castiel pushed away from the table and moved over to where Dean sat on the edge of the bed. "In your dream - was your mother pinned to the ceiling?"  
  
"How did you---" Dean felt his heart pulling tight in his chest at the thought of the dream. "How did you know that?"  
  
"I wish I could tell you, Dean. But all I can do is guide you down the path." Cas' gaze moved to the doorway quickly, before landing back on Dean. "I have to go back to my room before the doctors get suspicious. But I want you to think, Dean... how did your mother really die? Can you remember it?"  
  
"Of course I can. Not that I want to. But of course I..." His voice faded as he closed his eyes and tried to remember the night that his mother committed suicide. When he opened his eyes again, the door clicked closed behind Castiel's body.  
  
In the empty room, Dean tried to understand what had just happened.  
  
-  
  
Dean didn't leave his room again for three days. Every nurse and doctor that walked in, caused him to feel nervous. They would look away and he could swear he saw their eyes turn black. When he slept, his dreams became muddled with his memories - causing him to wake up without any real knowledge of who he was or where he was.  
  
At first he thought it was the medicine they were force-feeding him, until he started hiding it under his tongue to avoid taking the pills. Off of the meds, he was even more confused.  
  
Finally, he gave up with trying to sort it out and decided to seek help from his neighbor across the hall. Castiel had been the starting point for the confusion, so hopefully he could stop it.  
  
Opening his own door, he looked both ways in the corridor to check for orderlies and nurses, before sliding across the floor in a rush and opening Cas' door. Unlike Dean's room, where the curtains were pulled open slightly to allow moonlight in the room, Castiel's room was pitch black. Dean blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness after just dealing with the luminescent hallway.  
  
He stepped cautiously into the room, the door closed securely behind him, and tried to make out the bed. Before his vision could clear, though, a hand covered his mouth and a strong body pushed him face first against a nearby wall.  
  
"Did they see you?" A deep voice whispered in his ear.  
  
Since Castiel still had his hand over Dean's mouth, all he could do was shake his head 'no' as an answer.  
  
"Good." Cas removed his hand and stepped back, but not far enough that he wasn't still invading Dean's personal space. "Have you remembered?"  
  
Dean growled at the question, feeling like he was being left out of the loop of something very important. "Remembered what, Cas?" He pushed the other man back farther. "Why does it feel like you know something very important that you should be telling me?"  
  
"Please be quiet, Dean," Cas whispered. "If they hear us, they will figure out who I am."  
  
He controlled his voice, making sure to talk quietly. "Who are you?"  
  
"Castiel, angel of the Lord, just like I said." Since the answer obviously wasn't working to appease Dean, Cas continued, "Dean, if I explain to you what is taking place here, your mind will seize up and you will die."  
  
It was statements like that, that were giving Dean a headache. Since his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he moved over to the bed and sat down. "Cas, every time I close my eyes, my memories turn into a jumble. I don't know what's real and what's fake anymore."  
  
The bed dipped beside of him, as Cas sat down as well. "I'm real, Dean. I'm here to help you."  
  
Their knees were touching, and Dean moved closer... almost, instinctively. Castiel was right about one thing, though Dean's memories were a jumbled mess, the one thing that kept him grounded was a pair of shining blue eyes. "The righteous man that you pulled from hell... what happened to him?"  
  
Dean watched in the darkness as Cas stared at his hands. When he finally answered, his voice sounded broken. "He continued to do good. He made mistakes, of course, but he learned from those mistakes and saved the world countless times."  
  
"Does he know you saved him?"  
  
"He does. After I raised him from perdition, we shared a bond that was unbreakable. That bond turned into friendship... and after many years, it grew to be something else."  
  
He felt shocked as he realized what the 'angel' was saying. "You and him are... a thing?"  
  
Even the darkness couldn't hide Castiel's smile. "We began a relationship eight months ago."  
  
"Wow." Dean dropped his gaze. He couldn't remember the last time he spoke so fondly about someone. He couldn't remember anything. "Cas, I'm scared."  
  
A hand landed on the side of his face and gently forced him to meet those blue eyes again. "I'm right here, Dean." Cas leaned forward and Dean felt confused. What was he doing? He couldn't seriously be----  
  
He was. Dean felt the lips land on his and wondered why Castiel would spend five minutes talking about the man he shared a 'profound bond' with, only to kiss Dean!  
  
He didn't know, and he wasn't sure he cared, because the kiss felt.... right. He let it happen; he let it deepen. When he finally pulled back to take a breath, he moved quickly and pushed Castiel so that he was laying on the bed. Dean leaned over him, letting his hands tuck under the trenchcoat and beneath the hem of Cas' white shirt.  
  
A week before, Dean would have sworn he was straight. Laying in the small bed with Cas gasping beneath him, Dean couldn't remember if he had ever even dated a woman. All he could remember was Castiel.  
  
Cas pushed him back far enough so that he could sit up and pull off the trenchcoat. By the time it landed on the floor, Cas had also removed his shirt. Dean couldn't make out much in the darkness, but his hands automatically sought out every inch of exposed skin.  
  
"Dean," Cas gasped.  
  
"Shh." He sucked along the angel's neck, finding just the right spot to have him shuddering beneath Dean's body. His hips jumped on the bed and Dean saw fireworks as their erections brushed through the scratchy too-tight material of their white pants.  
  
Dean had to get out of his clothes. He sat up so fast he almost toppled off of the bed. The shirt ripped, as he pulled it off; he couldn't be bothered to care. The pants were so tight that his face scrunched up in pain as he forced the material over his cock. Once he kicked the last of his clothes off (making sure to catch himself before almost falling off the bed again), he looked down to see a swish of white material as Cas threw aside his pants as well.  
  
He wished the lights were on so that he could appreciate every inch of skin on the other man's body. Since they weren't, he instead let his hands roam free, touching every place he could find and taking note of each gasp that left Cas' mouth.  
  
Though his mind was a foggy mess, Dean knew that they didn't have the time or the supplies needed for sex. Dean wasn't even sure he would know what he was doing if he tried.  
  
What he did know was that they both needed release, and he could manage that one. Kissing a line up Castiel's neck, he finally found his lips as he lined their hips up perfectly.  
  
Just the touch of their erections together was breath taking, but Dean needed more. And Cas deserved more. Dean reached down, wrapping a hand around both of their cocks as he swallowed Castiel's gasp.  
  
The friction was perfect. Sticky from precome; not quite enough pressure to be blissful - but enough to keep them both right on the edge.  
  
Dean lasted longer than he would have imagined, but in the end, Cas sent him over the edge with four simple words.  
  
 _"I love you, Dean."_  
  
He came with a gasp, his come landing on their stomachs and his own hand. Cas followed soon after, pushed to the brink when Dean accidentally bit down on his bottom lip while orgasming.  
  
Their breathing filled the air for a few long minutes.  
  
In the aftermath of his release, clarity filled Dean's mind. "Eight months. Five days. Two hours." He leaned his head against Cas' shoulder and took a deep breath.  
  
Cas shifted, pushing him back so that blue eyes could find his own. " _Dean?"_  
  
A small smirk was the answer. Followed by a look of exhaustion. "Who erased my memories, Cas?"  
  
"Witch slash demon hybrid," Cas replied, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to Dean's familiar scent. "Dr. Reynolds." He kissed Dean again, before wiggling to get out from under him. "We need to clean up and get out of here. Part of the spell was that if you had your memories forced back, you would die. So I came here undercover to try and get you back. Now that you remember, we need to get as far away from this place as possible. Who knows what kind of hold they can still create on your mind."  
  
Dean could hear the nervousness in Cas' voice. He leaned forward for one more slow kiss. "Cas, I'm okay. We won't let it happen again, okay?"  
  
"No, I won't let it happen again." Cas stood, holding tight to Dean's hand and pulling him up as well. "Come on. I'm not escaping the looney bin with your come dried to my skin."  
  
"Oh baby, you know just how to woo me," Dean teased, following his angel into the bathroom to get cleaned up.


End file.
